A/N: So I wanted to give you guys a little teaser for what is to come in the next chapter. This is the point in the story where I'll be introducing a new major OC, one separate from the Daenerys plot line. I'm sure you'll quickly figure out where this one will take place. This is also where mysteries begin unraveling, paving the way for a future filled with some (hopefully) intriguing developments. When the full chapter is posted, I'll obviously be deleting this, so in the meantime...

Enjoy.

VIII
Sneak Peak

The Pilot

"Five-One, this is Five-Two, we have negative visibility. We can barely see fifty feet ahead of us."

"Where the hell did this storm come from?"

"Kandahar Tower, no copy, we read you one-by-five."

"Getting a lot of resistance on the stick and peddles."

"You seeing this green color too?"

"We're going to start climbing, get above this storm."

"Losing RPMs in main rotor."

"How is sand getting through the filters?"

"Get that cabin door closed!"

"Angel Five-Two is going down."

"Jesus, someone just fell out the side!"

"I say again, Five-Two is going down!"

"BRACE!"

—

She awoke with a loud gasp of frosty cold air invading her lungs. Her followed breathing was rapid and uncontrolled, confusion and shock overriding her actions. Where was she? Why did her left eye refuse to open properly? Was that blood she tasted on her lips? Several moments passed before she was able to regain control of herself and avoid hyperventilating, finally having the chance to take in her surroundings.

She was in a cockpit. The cockpit of a Black Hawk helicopter. The cockpit of her HH-60M Medevac Black Hawk. Her crashed Black Hawk. She turned to her left on instinct, an ingrained need to know the status of her copilot. He was there in his seat exactly where she expected him to be. Only he wasn't moving, and half his body was covered in an icy collection of snow that had flooded in through the helicopter's half-destroyed cockpit.

"Dick?" she asked in a weak voice barely above a whisper. A pained hiss escaped her mouth when she reached for him, her left side feeling as if on fire. She pushed through it and lightly shoved his shoulder. There was no response other than the slight roll of his head, revealing frozen streams of blood flowing down from his mouth and nostrils. His once vibrant emerald green eyes were now dull and lifeless.

No.

Ignoring all pain, she nearly tore off her seat's harness and lifted herself up as much as was possible in the confined space of the cockpit. She nearly collapsed on the instrument panels between the seats; her leg wasn't working right either. "Richard?" The pilot's voice was louder now but carried no more strength than it did before.

She began digging away the snow in a desperate frenzy, carelessly tossing some into her own face in the process. He can't be dead, she thought in defiance. There's no injuries, how could... Then she saw it. Buried beneath was a long three-inch-thick tree branch of a blackened wood, embedded into the copilot's bloodied chest like a crudely made spear. Somehow, someway, it had managed to pierce through the canopy of the HH-60. The same bulletproof canopy designed to protect against small-arms fire. It should have been impossible; any common wood should have broken apart upon impact with the material, especially a branch so thin and narrow.

Focus.

It didn't matter. Richard was dead, and all she could do was spare him a single tear from her good eye. She would mourn for him later. There were her other two crew members and the medevaced marines in the passenger cabin she needed to check on. He would've wanted her to prioritize their lives first and foremost, and damned would she allow death to claim another because she was too busy crying over him.

Clearing any thoughts of despair from her mind, she had just begun navigating through the downed Blackhawk when she saw her frozen exhale. Realization dawned quickly. Cold. Why was it cold, and how was there snow? They couldn't have possibly crashed high enough in the Afghani mountains for such temperatures and weather. Hadn't they been flying through a sandstorm?

She shook her head. Ask questions later; survivors come first.

Sneak Peak End